Over two years have passed since Lorine started visiting our house every week. In all that time, she's only missed maybe three visits. I remember one time she couldn't come because she had a cold—but the next week, she was completely fine and even more upset than I was about having to wait an extra week to see each other.
Now, so much time has gone by. We've grown up a little—not a lot, but enough. We can talk without stuttering or running out of breath. We can walk properly. Play all sorts of games together. Say the dumbest things to each other without even thinking.
Still, I don't really mind this quiet life of mine. Outside these mansion walls lies a world I haven't stepped into for two years. The last time I went out was before the war began. Since then, the entire country's institutions have been under emergency rule. Conditions are far from safe for ordinary people—shortages have made even basic goods scarce. But for nobles like us? Everything's still within reach.
I don't know much about the war's details, so there's nothing I can do about it anyway. Especially since no one in the Leonhardt family is actually fighting—we just funnel massive financial support to the military.
So like most days, I'm sitting in Dad's library reading books. Everyone thinks I'm just looking at the pictures for fun—that's why they let me come here whenever I want. They've got no clue I can actually read every single word perfectly and understand it all.
Thanks to this... 'gift' or whatever you'd call it, I know tons about the world, politics, and money stuff. But 'Electro Transmission'? After 690 books in two years, I've found zilch about it.
"With just 1 month left until my mission deadline..."
[Episode 13: One or Six]
The book I was reading was about our country's ancient history. Strangely enough, back then—under the rule of queens—the kingdom of Aparad seemed to run better. Now, some old man named Tort has taken the throne. Nobody really knows much about him, except that he's supposedly a descendant of Queen Mahana II.
I snapped the book shut and tossed it onto the table. The loud thud against the wooden surface echoed through the empty library. If any servants or guards had been around, I wouldn't have dared make such a scene. But right now? I'm exhausted. Every day, I come here and waste four or five hours digging through endless pages, hoping to find even a hint of what I'm looking for.
I stared at the pile of books on the table, frustration simmering. Then my eyes landed on that drawer again—the one Father visits every night to write...whatever it is he writes. I've never figured out what he's doing in there. Even Mom doesn't know about it.
I knew where the key was hidden, but this wasn't the time to go snooping. If he found out his four-year-old daughter had taken a key nobody was supposed to know about, found that book...he'd start suspecting way more than he should.
Honestly, I've spent these years trying to act like a normal kid. I don't want to invite unnecessary trouble—well, unless the system lets me.
Suddenly, my maid entered the library, stopping a good five meters from me and the desk. With a faint smile, she said, "Miss Camellia. Miss Lorine is here to see you."
Oh right. It's the weekend. Even though I'm seriously frustrated right now… I'd actually missed her excitement and energy.
I headed to the entrance still wearing what I had on—no time to change. I've seen her carriage so many times, I could recognize it from miles away.
The coachman stood by the steps of that black carriage, ready to help Lorine down. The way he positioned himself—one hand extended, the other bracing the door—was practically a ritual at this point.
She was clutching a huge box in her arms. The coachman kept insisting he should carry it for her—it was clearly big and heavy—but Lorine argued stubbornly, shaking her head. That's her in a nutshell. Completely ordinary… despite the supernatural power she hides.
She tried climbing out of the carriage while still holding the box, but when she couldn't manage it, she reluctantly handed it to the coachman. The second her feet touched the ground, though, she immediately snatched it back.
I couldn't help but laugh when I saw her struggling like that—though I really shouldn't have laughed in front of her. I quickly straightened my face.
There she was, sprinting toward me with that giant box in her arms, her usual childlike enthusiasm undimmed even as she visibly strained under its weight.
Later, I'd scold myself for just standing there like an idiot instead of helping. She never expected anything from me—but as a decent human being, I should've stepped in.
"Hey, Camellia!" She grinned, plopping the box down with a thud. "Guess what's inside?"
"Hmm... I dunno. Maybe a doll?"
I was teasing her a little—no way something that heavy was a doll. But honestly? I really had no clue what was inside.
She laughed, eyes sparkling. "You're so silly! If you can guess right by the time we get to your room, I'll give you a prize. Deal?"
"What kind of prize?!"
She flashed a mischievous grin and marched ahead without hesitation. This was my family's estate, yet she navigated it like she owned the place—pretty bold for a regular four-year-old.
"Okay, I seriously can't guess what's in there. How about a hint?"
"Hmm... nope!" She popped the "p" smugly.
"You're impossible! Fine then. Is it... a book?"
"A book? Wow, you really love reading—even though you don't understand any of it!" She giggled, picking up her pace. "But this is way more exciting! C'mon, we're almost there!"
"Okay then... a toy?"
"Getting warmer!"
"What kind of toy could be this heavy?!"
"No idea. You tell me," she shot back, laughing even harder now.
"Ah! Here's your room—hurry up, Camellia!"
"Is it... some kind of board game? Wait, is there a chess set in there?"
"Chess? What's that? But nope, not it! Super close though. We're here!"
As soon as we entered the room, she plopped onto my bed before I could even close the door behind us. I walked over and stood right in front of her, arms crossed.
She pried open the box and pulled out a large wooden board. I'd guessed right about it being a game—but what game, I had no clue—until she explained with a mischievous grin:
"It's Father's! He played it all the time when he was teenager. I begged Mother to let me bring it! I wanna play it with you."
Her golden eyes sparkled with so much excitement, it made my heart skip. I'll never get tired of seeing that hopeful face. No matter what happens, I swear I'll keep that look alive.
"Me too. But... what is it, exactly?"
"They call it 'Puldoro'! It's all about luck—good and bad!" She held up a wooden die, shaking it dramatically. "You roll this, and whatever number you get, you draw a card from these little... um... slidey compartments here. The higher your number, the worse the mission on the card gets! Cool, right?"
What a dumb game! Back in the day, rolling a six meant you were lucky. Now you better not roll a six or you're totally screwed!
Lorine grabbed the black die with golden dots, held the six up right in my face, and smirked.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?! Better not roll a six—'cause if you do, you're probably out real quick!"